


Invisible to the Eye

by Lady_Nuwanda



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: CharacterXReader Smut, F/M, Outpost!MichaelXGrey!Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 23:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20714051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Nuwanda/pseuds/Lady_Nuwanda
Summary: Outpost!Michael requests a personal assistant, Reader is the Grey that works for him. As she conquers her fear for her new boss, she might find out that the cold exterior hides a lonely boy who’s in need of affection just as much as she is.





	Invisible to the Eye

Being invisible was just part of a Grey’s job, I think. That’s probably why they decided to dress us in grey to begin with, to make it easier for us to blend into the background (but the ridiculous dildo-bun hairstyle they made us wear, I’m pretty sure served only for humiliation purposes). We were just supposed to keep the Outpost running, doing post-apocalyptical hard work. It sucks, but it’s still better than the alternative. They saved only those they thought could make a contribution to society… and those who could pay for it, or course. So basically if you’re rich you’re a Purple, if you’re useful you’re a Grey. You’re a very smart servant pampering rich people… but it beats being dead, if you ask me.

I mean, it was bad. Venable was insufferable, life in the Outpost was all about rules and fear. But all the time she kept telling us we were the “lucky ones”, and maybe she was right. Just shut up and do your job, and you get to live… it can’t be that hard. Unless you’re Mallory. Mallory had it far worse than the rest of us. Miss Vanderbilt seemed to think that, because Mallory had worked for her before, she could ask her to perform the most absurd kinds of tasks, things you would never ask a stranger. While she kept rubbing Mallory’s face on the fact that she was the only reason Mallory was in the Outpost at all, overlooking the part where she made her kickass assistant a Grey, while making her hairdresser’s grandmother was a Purple. Honestly, rich people! But the cool thing about being invisible is that, as long as you don’t neglect your work, you can do whatever you want when no one’s looking. And no one’s ever looking. So, if you’re an asshole to one of the Greys, you shouldn’t be surprised if one of the others would eventually use your toothbrush to scrub the toilet. That’s just cause and effect, really.

They wouldn’t even notice that the jell-o cubes that got to the table were slightly smaller than the ones that left the kitchen. And I’m sure not one of the Purples had any idea about the Greys’ late night candle-lit jell-o scrap party in the pantry. It was the only time we could let our hairs down, literally as well as figuratively, and just chill. Laughing off the hardships of the day, talking about the things we missed from the “life before”… sometimes coming up with pranks, like switching the tubes of haemorrhoids ointment and toothpaste’s places in the bathroom drawers. Dinah Stevens screamed something fierce the next morning, when she tried to brush her teeth with haemorrhoids ointment (or was it the other way around?). We had to bite into our own tongues all day, to keep ourselves from laughing whenever we’d see her. Our cheek muscles were aching from the effort to keep a straight face. Totally worth it.

I was still working really hard on staying invisible, but apparently not hard enough. When Cooperative big-shot Michael Langdon showed up at the Outpost and asked for an exclusive chambermaid, Venable decided I was the best choice. Apparently she thought I was both efficient and discreet. How adorable. So why did it feel like I was being punished, instead of rewarded? To say he was intimidating would be an understatement! And even though he requested a “Personal Grey”, I had specific instructions to never be in the room at the same time he was, unless it was absolutely necessary. I was supposed to keep everything tidy and neat while he was walking around the Outpost, terrifying everyone else, bring in his meals and take the trays away. Keep my eyes down and never talk to him, if I could help it. Easy! It’s not like I was dying to make friends with the man, anyway.

No, I wasn’t blind. I was very much aware that this was the most handsome man I had ever seen. His face looked like it had been carved by the angels themselves, for crying out loud! But I wouldn’t use the word “attractive” to describe him. Quite the opposite, actually, everything about him seemed carefully designed to keep everyone else away. It was like he had an wall made of ice around him all the time, and no one was ever allowed in. So, he seemed blissfully ignorant of my existence, and I was more than happy to have my existence ignored by him. It was a nice little non-verbal agreement we had. Until, of course, it wasn’t. I was taking out his tray, one night after dinner, while he was working on his desk when, out of the clear blue sky, he talked to me, like this was something he always did. The sound of his voice made me jump out of my skin, and I had to muffle a yelp by pressing both my hands to my mouth. He acted like he didn’t notice.

“Working for me, you’re gonna end up seeing and hearing things that are not supposed to be seen or heard by anyone else. I trust you’ll keep my secrets. If you play your cards right, little grey mouse, there’s sure to be a ticket for the Sanctuary with your name on it. If you don’t, well… then I’m gonna have to make sure you wish you had died in the blast. Am I being clear?”, I nodded stupidly, “Good. Tomorrow morning I wanna wake up to find actual flames at the fireplace, instead of the usual embers. And you’ll be holding a cup of fresh brewed coffee from my personal stash, understood? That would be all for tonight.”, he carelessly waved me away, without ever looking at me.

With a small curtsy, I left the room as fast as could, nearly forgetting the tray I was supposed to take. He had coffee? Actual coffee? No. That’s not what I should be focusing on. He can take me to the Sanctuary! All I had to do was keep my mouth shut about his personal subjects, and brew him coffee. Ok, so no more late night Greys’ parties in the pantry for me. I was sure gonna miss my friends, I kinda felt like a traitor for trying to secure my place in the Sanctuary while leaving everyone behind… But I was the only one whose neck was on the line, here! I don’t even wanna think about what he would do to me if he felt betrayed in any way. His secrets were my secrets, now. And if he didn’t have any friends, then neither did I.

I headed straight for the Greys’ quarters, but I was too anxious to sleep, knowing I’d have to be up before His Majesty the next morning. Mallory was kind enough to give up her little stolen slice of jell-o to stay with me, while all the other Greys were in the pantry. She was trying to talk me into sleep, so she crawled under the covers in my bed with me, our heads covered by my bedsheets while we carried our conversation in whispers, sharing my pillow. It’s the kind of cutesy sister/confidant cliché you’d only find in a Jane Austen novel, that I would never have even considered taking part of in my “life before”. But somehow it seemed appropriate in this scenario… and, I had to admit, not at all unpleasant.

“So what’s your new boss like? Is he nice?”

“Mallory, you’ve seen the man… he’s a nightmare!”

“It’s not a proper nightmare until they call you up in the bathroom to wipe their assholes clean…”

“Ew! Good point. I don’t think he’d ever do that, tho. He’s too… Dignified.”

“A dignified boss. I wonder what that’s like…”

“I’m serious… if I so much as walked into the room while he was leaving the bathroom, I’m pretty sure young-Lucius-Malfoy there would simply Avada Kedavra my ass, just to spare himself the embarrassment…”

“He’s the one who decides who gets to go to the Sanctuary, tho… Are you telling me that if he asked you for special favours, you’d be able to look straight into those deep blue eyes and say no?”, the way she said the words “special favours” made me feel more than a little uncomfortable.

“How d’you know his eyes are deep blue?”, I faked an exaggerated gasp, “You dared look into his eyes? Bold move, Mal.”

“Yeah, that’s me… I’m a motherfucking daredevil.”, we both giggled at her deliberately dull tones, that made clear she meant the exact opposite of her words, “But you’re changing the subject…”

“I’m not changing the subject, Mallory, I’m ending the subject… I should try and get some sleep, I have to be up before our-lord-and-saviour tomorrow.”

“What the hell for?”

“Something about tending to the fireplace…“, I assumed his personal stash of coffee was one of the secrets I was supposed to keep, “Apparently his highness doesn’t like it when he wakes up and the temperature of the room matches that of his heart.”

“So you’ll be there while he’s still asleep… it will be a good opportunity to take a long, hard look at him. Who knows, you might even find out what kind of pajamas he wears… if any.”

“Good Night, Mallory.”

I barely slept a wink, and was already in Langdon’s bedroom before sunrise. The room was actually quite chilly, so I tended to the fireplace right away, then brewed him his coffee. The heavenly scent hit my nostrils and I almost cried tears of joy. I told myself I was taking a small sip just to make sure it tasted right, not because I craved coffee or anything. And it fucking tasted like Christmas morning. I stood next to the bed, the cup in my hands, waiting for him to wake up. Mallory’s words from the previous night still echoing inside my head.

It was, indeed, a good opportunity to take a long, hard look at him. He seemed harmless enough, peacefully sleeping while lying on his stomach. As the room grew warmer he had kicked the blankets off himself in his sleep, so he was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers now. He really was beautiful. Long, muscular legs and powerful arms lined with delicate veins, his hands under the pillow on either side of his head. His sleeping face looked so much younger, it was almost sweet. His rosy lips were slightly parted, and he had an innocent set to his eyebrows… Before that moment I had had the impression he was a little older, that his beautiful face was a little harder, with sharp angles… and that permanent cold sneer. Now everything about him seemed so, almost overwhelmingly, soft… I felt slightly dizzy at the sight, and realised it was because I had stopped breathing.

I was looking at his lightly tanned back, and I couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like running my fingertips over that smooth skin, feeling the warmth from his body, tracing the graceful lines of the muscles… when his eyes fluttered open. I handed him the cup with my brightest smile “Good morning, Mr. Langd…” - “Don’t.”, he cut me off mid-sentence, holding up a finger to my face, and drinking the coffee he took from my hands without looking at me, as usual. What a lovely man. With another short curtesy (almost my trademark, at this point), I left the room, feeling somewhat relieved that I might not have to see him again before it was time to draw him his bath, that night.

Of course, that perspective was mostly wishful thinking on my part. The reality was that I was about to spend what felt like the whole day going in and out of Michael Langdon’s bedroom. Taking his meals, fetching him a book in the library, fetching him a different book in the library because he changed his mind while I was gone, walking people to and from their interviews with him… by the time I was actually drawing his bath, I could not believe that this day was really over and that I was finally on my last task. I was about to leave the room as he entered, like I was supposed to, when I heard his voice behind me, through the wall of ice that separated him from the rest of the world, “I don’t think I said you were dismissed.”

Ugh. What now? I tried not to look so desperate to get away as I turned around “It’s about time I had someone to wash my hair for me”, I lowered my gaze to the floor as he began untying the belt of his bathrobe “Why are you blushing, grey mouse?” his voice was dripping with sarcasm now “Does the sight of a naked man offend your delicate sensibilities?” was he seriously mock-pouting at me? Really? “Oh, grow up.”, he sneered, finished undressing and entered the bathtub, lying back and closing his eyes with a sigh. How did he do that? He was stark naked, I was fully dressed, and yet… I was the one feeling vulnerable and exposed. I tried to make myself busy, arranging the silver rings he had left on the counter by the bathroom sink into their velvet cases, thinking about the conundrum in which I found myself.

Which one was better (or less bad): should I avoid any kind of eye contact with his, erm, “manhood”? Act like I just couldn’t see it, for some reason? Or was he expecting me to fully acknowledge its existence? Maybe compliment him on his length and girth, whether I meant it or not? Maybe I don’t have to do anything so extreme, either way… I could just, you know, sneak a pick. That sounds reasonable. Not very mature, but you can’t have it all… Ok. I’ll do it. I will! Just one glance, I can do that. Come on! It’s just a penis, for fucks sake, it’s not such a big deal… Oh. Oooh, yes. Yes, it is. It’s a very big deal. It’s a huge, gorgeous - and somewhat veiny - deal. Like… congratulations, mama, it’s most definitely a boy! I was almost tilting my head to the side, losing myself in the view, when the sound of his voice startled me back into reality “my back’s not going to wash itself, you know…”, I looked at his face terrified of the gaze I would find there, but fortunately he hadn’t even opened his eyes.

I kneeled on the floor behind his back, grabbed a sponge and proceeded to scrub him nervously, doing my best not to touch his back with my actual fingers, just the sponge. “Gently”, he groaned through gritted teeth. I had to take a few deep breaths before allowing myself to run a soapy hand to his back. I remembered my own thoughts from that same morning, how I wanted to feel his warmth, his smooth skin… and now that I was, I shouldn’t be surprised do feel my own body responding to it. The red hot sensation up my spine, colouring my cheeks, the way my breathing was getting heavier… The sudden realisation that my hands were soaked in the same water as his naked body actually hit me like an electric shock.

Running my fingers over his muscles I could find a couple, or more, spots that felt very tense to the touch. Without a second thought I rubbed a thumb over one of them, trying to ease the knot, and I froze waiting for his response. He gave a relieved sigh and leaned his back slightly against my hands. I smiled a little to myself and kept rubbing his back, feeling his tension slowly dissolve beneath my fingers. I also gave him a scalp massage, after washing his hair, but for completely selfish reasons: I wanted to see that soft look I had seen in the morning back on his face. That angelic expression he had in his sleep… I felt like I needed it again, more than he did. By the time I was brushing his freshly washed hair, the man was all but purring in delight, like a cat. I had never seen Michael Langdon look so relaxed and, even though it was probably the most foolish thing I could do, I couldn’t help relaxing a little in his presence, running my fingers and the brush through his sweet smelling, silky golden curls.

He wanted some tea before bed and at this point I was no longer surprised that he had a secret stash of tea, as well (I was inclined to believe that there was no way he was living on the jell-o cubes I brought him, alone). He was sitting on his bed with a book when I handed him his cup of melissa tea and, for the first time, he brushed his fingertips over mine, ever so gently, when he was taking the cup from my hands. I looked up, startled by the unexpected touch, and found his glowing blue eyes fixed on mine. He held my eyes on his for a while longer, his plump lips forming a delicate smile, his cheeks flushed pink from the warm bath, and I felt my heart doing a somersault when I heard the words “thank you” coming from his lips, his eyes burning into mine. I had no idea he even knew those words! Feeling myself blush bright red, I managed to mumble an awkward “good night, Mr. Langdon” and fled the bedroom like the place was on fire.

I closed the door and pressed my own back against it, breathing hard. What the hell had just happened? And, now that I was outside, why did it feel so agonisingly difficult to put some distance between myself and that bedroom? When I finally felt that I could move my legs beneath me, I headed for the Greys’ quarters and found Mallory waiting for me again. I told her to go meet the others because I was too tired, I said that I was probably gonna sleep immediately, there was no reason for her to miss the “scrap feast”. But the truth was that I couldn’t bear talking to Mallory, or anyone else, at that moment. Not when I was so uncomfortably aware of my flushed cheeks and the slickness between my legs. I was furious for letting myself get so hot and bothered over Michael Langdon. I felt betrayed by my own body that such a man could have that kind of effect upon me. But at least I didn’t lie to Mallory, I really did fall asleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.

The next morning I went into his room even earlier and left the cup of coffee on his bedside table, so I could be out of there before he woke up. Less than an hour later I was notified that, after careful consideration, my boss had decided that “it was counterproductive” (his actual words, apparently) that I should return to the Greys’ quarters every night. From now on, I’d be spending my nights in his bedroom. I even tried to relish on the perverse joy of seeing Venable reduced to being my boss’s carrier-pigeon - and how utterly offended she looked that he would dare make the mighty Wilhemina Venable lower herself to delivering a message to a Grey - instead of delving into the implications of the news she’d just given me.

I was spending the night with Michael Langdon. In his bedroom. At his request. We‘re practically roommates. Oh, my God, we are roommates. And there is only one bed. (Now… where have I heard that before?)

After our newly created nightly ritual of back rubbing and hair brushing, I left his cup of tea on the bedside table and turned to the chaise-longue that was by the wall. I laid myself to sleep without a word, I wouldn’t dare look at his face, I didn’t want to see whether he was relieved or disappointed. I don’t think I could bear either one, to be honest. But, as much as I tried, I just couldn’t fall asleep. I was still fully alert when, a few hours later, I heard Michael Langdon tossing and turning on his bed, mumbling in his restless sleep “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry… I’ll be good, I promise… I want to be good… just don’t leave me… please… I don’t wanna be alone… not again… please… I can be good, I know I can… don’t leave me all alone…”

I went to the bed and tried to wake him up as gently as I could, with my hands on his shoulders, repeating his name. He sat up abruptly, his sweaty forehead narrowly missing mine, his round eyes looking wildly around the room until they fell on my face. He looked at me in panic, he seemed younger than ever with tears rolling down his cheeks, his chest heaving with every breath. “It was only a dream, Michael… Mr. Langdon”, I don’t know why I said that, I just needed to break the silence with something. Anything! Before I’d start crying, myself, under the weight of his agonised stare. He knew what I had heard, what I had seen. His mask of composure was long gone and could never be put back into its place. Not before me, at least.

For a second I couldn’t quite read his face, and I was afraid he was going to choke me to death for witnessing his moment of weakness. But instead, he did the last thing I could have expected: he scrunched his face like a child and cried even harder, burying his head on my chest. He threw his arms around my waist pulling me closer, a little too tight, my body shaking with his violent sobbing. There was nothing I could do except run my fingers through his hair and kiss the top of his head. And wait. Wait for him to cry all his misery out. He eventually fell asleep, all curled up on himself, while I was spooning myself against his back. I wanted to run my fingertips over the small “666” iron-branded behind his ear, that I had noticed the first time I brushed his hair, but for some reason I knew I shouldn’t. So I just passed my arm under his and placed my hand on his shoulder, he crossed his other arm over his chest so his hand could hold onto mine. I fell asleep feeling the sweet scent of his hair, nuzzling the back of his neck, our legs entangled.

By the time I woke up, I had been sleeping on my stomach, on hand resting on the pillow before my face. My position mirrored Michael’s, except that his hand was not on his pillow. Instead, his fingertips were ghosting over my hand and he was already wide awake. It was only when my eyes met his blue gaze that he dared holding my hand. His warm blue eyes remained on mine for a while, and he pulled me closer by the hand he was holding, turning us both on our sides, facing each other, and placed his soft lips on mine, involving me in a warm embrace. His kiss was surprisingly gentle, the sweet caress of his tongue on mine felt almost like a dream, and yet there was a certain hunger about the way he pulled me even closer and ran his hand through my hair.

He removed my hideous grey nightgown, and his lips and hands found my breasts, his tongue swirling around one nipple making me gasp. He moved his soft, wet kisses to my stomach, hooking his fingers on the waistband of the ugliest pair of grey panties ever created by mankind. He pulled it down slowly, like it was the finest lace-lingerie, his eyes always searing into mine with burning desire, so I found myself fumbling to get rid of his black boxers, and straddling his hips. I cupped his face in my hands, and he did the same with my butt-cheeks, as I eased myself on him, very slowly, savouring every inch as he filled me up, my eyes never leaving his. At least until I felt him hitting that tender spot inside me, sending a jolt of pleasure through my whole body as a shaky sob escaped my lips, I felt myself clenching a little around him, and I closed my eyes in delight. My hips were riding his, ever so slightly, as I adjusted to the way he was stretching me out… that unique, delicious, stinging sensation in my core. His mouth was on my breasts again, suckling one nipple. Without warning, his grip got tighter and he turned us both around in a swift, graceful movement, so that now he was on top of me, between my legs.

He rocked his hips against mine, thrusting into me in languid, fluid motions, that reminded me of the gentle caress of waves on the shore. He really was powerful and intense like the ocean, and I was lost in his eyes, gladly drowning myself in that ocean. So when the wave of pleasure from my orgasm washed over me, it caught me completely off-guard. I heard an animalistic groan that, very surprisingly, was coming from my own lips as I arched my back, digging my fingernails on the smooth skin of Michael’s back. He smirked, satisfied, at the trembling mess beneath him that was me. But apparently the way I was tightening myself around him was too much for his self-control, and he found his own release soon after I did. He threw his head back in ecstasy, his eyes tightly shut as he spilled himself deep inside me. His body collapsed on top of mine, shaking violently, a groan that could match my own muffled against the curve of my neck.

He raised himself on his elbows to look at me, gently tangling his fingers on my hair. His eyes were like blue flames bringing the warmth of life to my soul, that ice wall that used to stand between us completely shattered and forgotten, and now I could see him clearly, every aspect of him: The lonely boy, the powerful man, the gentle lover, the merciless judge, the angel, the demon… And now he could see me, too. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had felt truly seen, specially when I had spent most of my time trying so hard to be invisible. You spend long enough being treated as less than human, as a little mouse, and you might as well start to believe that’s what you are. But he could see me now. He was looking at me like I was so much more, like I was some kind of goddess he was in awe of. He leaned over to place his soft lips on mine once more, his tongue delicately parting my lips in search of my own. And I heard the hollow crack of my heart breaking in half right at the moment a burning question crossed my mind, searing white-hot like a lightning bolt:

How does one go back to being invisible, after being seen by Michael Langdon?


End file.
